Page 31 of Lethal

Raven

Air rushes from my lungs, and it takes a moment before I’m able to breathe again. A ringing sounds in my ears accompanied by loud pops, which only serves to make the pounding in my head worse. I blink as I stare at the sky, dust billowing in the breeze overhead, and a burnt scent tickling my nose. The grass prickles against my palms where I fist the dirt.

As I push myself from the ground, the world around me spins. I use the back of my hand to brush my hair off my forehead, trying to make sense of things. It takes a moment for my thoughts to snap into place, and when they do, panic rushes through me. I search around me, my vision barely able to focus enough to recognize I’m surrounded by shards of wood.

Did my men hear my warning to move? Did they get out of the way in time? Or are they somewhere sprawled on the ground?

After a moment, I realize the loud pops aren’t ringing out anymore. Were they gunshots? They had to have come from my men since they’ve stopped and I haven’t been hit. Or maybe I have and the pain hasn’t registered yet.

Rotating my body to the side, I push up on my hands and knees as the world spins around me. The blast must have given me a concussion. It’s the only explanation for the condition my head is in.

Pain rockets down my arm, but I pay it no mind, needing to find my men. A shadow appears beside me, and after blinking several times, I realize it’s Vander. He holds his gun in position to fire off more rounds if needed, but from the lack of movement on his trigger finger, I know he isn’t actively shooting. It confirms one of my theories, at least. Hopefully, the ringing in my ears will cease soon, bringing my hearing back with it.

Vander’s gaze quickly travels over me, cataloging my injuries. Each microsecond has his scowl growing deeper until he rips his eyes from me, returning them to our surroundings. His lips move, but whatever he says comes through muffled and distorted. It’s like trying to listen through a fishbowl.

“I can’t hear you,” I tell him, but the way he winces speaks to me shouting it.

My attention wanders, searching for the others. The quick way I turn my head has another round of dizziness consuming me, and I have to lean on Vander’s side to keep from falling over. He gives me a worried glance before watching for more threats. His concern for me is written all over his features, and I know he’s at war with himself, split between wanting to give his undivided attention to my injuries, and making sure I don’t incur any more.

Without thinking about it, my hand moves to his shoulder, using it to steady myself. And maybe a small fraction to comfort him in his panic. I can’t imagine the amount of fear coursing through him right now after thinking I was in the bombing not long ago.

He seems to sink into the touch, his chest expanding against my arm more than it had on his last breath. I have the insane urge to wrap my arms around him, to assure him I’m okay, but before I can act on the thought, I get distracted by the sight of Cole and Jasper. Both of them are in similar positions to Vander, their backs pressed against each other to make sure they’re protected.

And underneath them is Grayson. Red expands outward from a rip in his pants, and he isn’t moving. He must’ve been thrown in the other direction as me when the rocket impacted the stairs. He didn’t stand a chance of getting out of the way in time, not where he was positioned.

Jasper holds two fingers against his pulse point, and the longer he takes trying to feel the flow of Grayson’s heart pumping, the harder my own beats in my chest. I hold my breath, wishing I could force my heart to calm its erratic behavior. The moment my gaze meets with Jasper’s, it’s as if the world drops from existence around me.

Why won’t he tell me already?

Moisture prickles at my eyes, a burning sensation that isn’t completely unwelcome. It’s as if I know the exact moment Jasper finally detects the pulse thrumming through Grayson. Relief fills his gaze, and he gives me a single nod before returning his attention to our surroundings.

Knowing Grayson isn’t out of trouble yet, the blood flowing from his leg is evidence enough; I move to stand on shaky legs. They give out before I can put much of my body weight on them, and I catch myself with my hands before I eat dirt.

Not wasting a second, I immediately crawl across the space between us. Something I know Grayson would appreciate with heated eyes in any other situation. As it is now, he’s unconscious. Which could be a good thing, depending on how bad his injury is.

My hands shake as I reach for him, suddenly doubting Jasper was right. Did I fall into a trap of feeling relief when I should be consumed with fear? I’m suddenly desperate to feel his heartbeat for myself. I press my fingertips to his neck, to the spot I’ve memorized with my lips where his racing pulse tickles against them as I kiss him.

It only takes a split second for me to recognize the faint thud and I momentarily black out. When I come to, my lips are pressed against Grayson’s in a searing kiss, born of desperation to wake him. It’s an asinine idea, and I don’t have a hint of where it could have come from. Yet it somehow works. Like my will was forced through our lips directly to his soul.

His eyelids flutter open, and he grunts against my invasion, but the moment I attempt to pull away, his hand snaps into place at the back of my head, holding me in place. Grayson watches me, clarity returning to his eyes as the seconds tick by until he realizes the pain he’s in. I got so distracted by the need to wake him, I didn’t take a moment to catalog his injuries.

This time when I back off, he lets me go, moving his hand to my arm where he squeezes the life out of it, as if riding a wave of pain coursing through his body. I instantly zero in on his leg, finding a shard of wood sticking from his flesh. Thankfully, it’s in the meat of his leg and not where a major artery is.

“I need the med kit,” I say to whoever’s listening. My words sound muffled still, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I said it too loudly, but I catch Cole jumping to his feet. A few seconds later he’s at my side, ripping open the other duffle we had with us. How it’s still intact is beyond me.

Grayson fists the grass at his sides in an attempt to keep the signs of his pain directed inward, but I’m not fooled. Neither is Cole, who rummages through our med kit until he extracts a vial and syringe. He measures out a dosage of morphine and injects it into Grayson’s leg. The effect is almost immediate. His muscles relax from their rigid hold. Without direction, Cole moves into threading a needle, knowing we’ll need to close the wound.

My deadly hacker locks gazes with me. “I’ve got the wound on his leg, you check if there are others.”

I scan Grayson’s form, taking in every speck of blood, every scratch and smudge, finding no other injuries that need tending. Which is kind of unbelievable that he wasn’t hurt more than the single chunk of wood. I reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly as I brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

His gaze remains fixed on me, tracing my lines as if he, too, is searching me for injuries. “You okay?” he asks, voice thicker than normal.

“That’s my line.” I frown at him, not liking that he got to ask first. But in truth, it’s because I wasn’t going to ask at all. It’s clear he isn’t okay. A two-inch chunk of stairs sticks out of his thigh.

“I think we got them all,” Jasper says, coming to our sides. Vander presses against my back a moment later. “At least this wave of them. Who knows if there’s more.”

“I can hack into a satellite and get images of the surrounding area,” Cole offers, gaining glares from all of us.

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